


Catching Up

by auraofdawn



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dadgil, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Gen, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Devil May Cry 5, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auraofdawn/pseuds/auraofdawn
Summary: “Well, with an attitude like that, you’re never gonna meet your grandkids.”Nero would beg (any and all who'll help him) to differ. [slight SE spoilers]
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 130





	Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I do spoil a little bit of the new cutscenes from special edition in here, so keep goin if you're cool with that. This is mostly headcanon/wishful thinking due to a couple foreshadow-y lines, so its not 100% spoilers, but again, don't say I didn't warn you. I should mention this also isn't related to anything else I've written, especially since it directly contradicts my timeline in the devil's got my arms lol
> 
> Thanks for reading anyway!

If there’s one thing Trish and Lady know for sure, it's when Nero is serious. There's just the three of them running Devil May Cry now, and damn them if they couldn’t get the place running smoother than its founder ever did, without breaking a sweat. So far, so good, either of them could safely say. 

Until the day Nero doesn’t call ahead, doesn’t walk in snapping at Nico, or with that kick in his step that meant he had a bag of Kyrie’s latest fare to share. 

He just marches right up to the desk— _Dante's_ desk, free of dust, tidied of any important papers he’d left scattered on it—and plants both hands on its surface. 

Neither Lady nor Trish are even on that side of the room, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind or care. 

“I need you guys to do something,” he says. 

The ladies meet eyes with each other before they bring themselves to meet his. They’re stormy alright, those sky-blue irises clouded with the same kind of doubt and destruction that had pushed him to jump out of a moving car at roughly five thousand feet. Neither one of them had been able to stop him from being so reckless then, and the air thickens with the chance they may yet fail again. 

“Does it pay well?” Lady asks with a bit of that teasing lit in her voice. 

Nero just frowns. 

All the good nature deflates out of Lady’s shoulders, but she hides it with a huff. She tried, but the kid’s moods are as unpredictable and infamous as the rest of the men in his family. 

“It's not a job.” 

Trish steps forward with practiced step and level tone, meeting all of Nero’s nerves in full. 

“What is it?” she tries, earnestly. 

“I need you to do something _for_ _me_ ,” he repeats. 

And that’s all they need to know, really. In sync, they both nod, and the tension finally eases right out of the young devil hunter’s chest.

* * *

If Morrison’s shocked by anything these days, it’s the pure _audacity_ of this kid. 

He’d been impressed when they first met back in Red Grave—one-armed kid with a flaming sword on his back gets beat down and leaps right back up? Even Dante had never done that much, and he was the same guy who’d been rumored to have taken a bullet from every single one of Lady’s guns and lived to laugh about it. 

But its more the pure consistency that the youngster has—he's yet to miss any kind of appointment or payment that gets drawn up between them, and he usually does it with a _little_ class—more than Dante had ever certainly bothered. 

So when Nero walks up one day and asks for a favor, a real, honest-to-god favor, he’s gotta take a moment. To wait for an explanation, a catch, or even a punchline. But nothing else comes out of the kid’s mouth. 

“I can’t do much for _free_ , y’know,” Morrison drawls through a mouthful of a new cigar. 

The kid must be desperate, the way he surges forward through the thick cloud of smoke instead of grimacing and swatting it away like usual. 

“I know, I know,” Nero scratches at the back of his neck like its full of ideas he doesn’t have. “Money’s kinda tight right now, and it's not gonna get much more loose anytime soon...” 

“I’m not exactly in the business of charity, as you can see.” 

That earned Morrison the dark side of a glare. He certainly deserved it; he wouldn’t deny that. There was enough talk about this kid who never stuck around the city for long and talked about enough orphans and nuns to make a sinner shake in their boots. Even the ladies who held down the office never flinched to vouch for him, despite his unlucky family. But getting to the top of their particular profession didn’t leave room for too many morals, and Morrison’s not keen on making any this instant. 

“The only thing I’m asking is for any leads you have on a path to the underworld.” 

“You wanna open _another_ hole to hell?” 

“N-no!” 

Morrison could swear he’d seen the kid bare a fang or two for a second. 

“Then how quick do you need it done?” 

That got a right blush out of the young hunter for some reason. “I— _we’ve_ got a couple months to go.” 

The broker tilted his chin under the brim of his fedora and hummed. At least that was something to work with. 

“Just...” Nero shook his head ruefully and glanced away, “if you hear about anyone—or anything—jumping out of one, will you just... let me know?” 

Morrison had to admit, he hadn’t had anyone try to genuinely tug at his heartstrings for a while. He liked to think that was mostly due to the reputation he’d built, and because even his type of clients knew better than to beg. But here’s the supposed nephew of one of his oldest clients, begging for even the tiniest bit of info. 

The broker puts his cigar down, folds his arms, and shrugs. 

“I’ll see what I can do, kid.” 

Nero’s eyes go wide as saucers and his mouth gapes wide enough for a fly to get stuck inside, but he clamps it shut and leaps out the door. Probably before the rest of his luck could run out, and Morrison doesn’t blame him. 

_Let no one ever accuse me of being heartless_ , he thinks. And if nobody on earth would say it, at least he still had God as his witness.

* * *

Nico likes to think she’s good at a lotta things: mechanics, artistry, doing her nails, for a few. Getting places is another she’s been pretty damn proud of, thank you very much, but she can only take so much flack on that front before she throws it right back 

“Can’t this hunk of junk go any faster?” Nero whines for the tenth time that minute, it feels. 

“It's _your_ hunk’a junk, so you tell me!” she retorts. 

A big bump throws them both up then, even tossing her own boots free from the pedals for a brief, frantic moment. And if Nero had just put on his damn seatbelt when she had yelled at him the first time, he wouldn't be clinging to back of her seat for dear life. 

“If there was ever a time to break every traffic law, its _now_ , Nico!” 

“You say that like I know any laws!” 

She blew her bangs back and twisted the wheel sharply, pulling them into a turn that curled more than her hair. Nero yelped with a high voice she’d tease him for later, but her ears perked up until she heard the loud CLOMP of his boots steadying back on the floor behind her. 

If the damn bastard had just _listened_ , they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, swerving madly and running lights like they were just suggestions. Not that the rules really mattered to Nico, ever, but _goddamnit_ did she hate being late! All because he wanted to make one last job on the other side of town, in the butt-fuck-middle-of-nowhere! 

Eyes back on the road ahead of them, Nico grits her teeth and pales. Somehow, they’ve ended up on the absolute _shittiest_ pavement she’s ever seen—and she drove them through a big damn demon plant! All she can do is steel her hands on the wheel and floor it once more, minimizing the constant bumping that threatens to turn the entire van into a massage chair. Nero’s curses get lost in the weird hum it creates, as if they were vibrating past the speed of sound itself. 

_That would be a nice addition to the resume_ , Nico lets herself think. 

And then the wheels come shrieking back down on smooth pavement, bringing all her thoughts and senses back down to earth. 

“Still alive back there?” she calls. 

“ _Barely_ ,” is the battered response. 

“Good,” she smirks and points right out into the sunny windshield, “’cause we’re here.” 

Nero’s next words get all garbled on the way up and out of his throat, but Nico thinks she’ll let him have this one. It’s a special occasion, and she’s already screamed her own throat dry enough for one afternoon. He’s barely getting started and he's already had all the wind knocked clean outta him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” 

“I—I’m going,” he stammers, hands scrambling and slipping on every surface he suddenly can’t find the strength to grasp. “I j-just need to—” 

“GET UP THERE, TOUGH GUY!” 

Nico yanks Nero up by the collar and tosses him into the cold, hard grasp of the door, plastering his thin frame right on it. She can see all of his glare without looking, but she gives him a softer pat on the back as she unlocks the latch and pushes him out the door. 

Nero stumbles again, staggering to his feet on firm ground for the first time in hours. For a long moment he just stands there, looking between Nico and the big building in front of them, eyes uneasy. 

They share one last nod, and he settles all the way down. 

Oh, he’d do _just_ fine. Nico settles back into her seat and gets ready to linger with the last pack of smokes any one of them’ll let her have for a while.

* * *

_All in all, it_ _coulda_ _been worse_ , Dante thinks. He’s got no clue how long they’ve been down here in total; his hair hasn’t gotten that much longer, though he hasn’t been feeding from another bloody tree, either. The fact that he and his brother are still alive and kinda-sorta getting along has to count for something, right? 

The demons know better than to start shit with the two of them now—and it's kinda sad, honestly. But he and Vergil do get bored of tying up their score again and again, so they can’t help but wander into the nearest empusa nest to keep those extermination skills sharp. 

He doesn’t expect Vergil to get near-stir-crazy, looking up and all around at nothing suddenly. It's so annoying when his twin’s energy gets so damn loud that he can't even nap in the asphodel fields like he likes to. 

Vergil says he’s fine, like he always does, but Dante’s not stupid--not like the ladies would have everyone believe, at least. He sees his brother tap his fingers on Yamato’s _saya_ aimlessly, and catches him fiddling with the inside pocket of his coat—which has been empty the whole time they've been down here, he knows. 

Now there's a burst of energy nearby—loud enough and strong enough to blast a wave right through his dreams—and Dante’s just _tired_. 

“C’mon, Verge,” he whines, eyes still shut as he tries to shift away from whatever the hell it was. 

Something like a scoff echoes back, and Dante hopes that means whatever it is, Vergil’s already taking care of it. His older brother could have a free point for now, and the younger would just take it back later when he wasn’t so tired. 

But then the blast grows, reaches out again and his entire frame cringes in response. 

Dante groans like a crabby child. “Can’t I finish my nap?” 

“’fraid not,” a very-not-Vergil voice answered. 

His eyes spring open to see Lady aiming a very unfamiliar Kalina Ann model right at his chest. At her left, Trish has Vergil pinned with the restored Artemis in her grasp. 

“What, you ladies didn’t RSVP, did you?” 

“Oh no,” Trish corrected, poking Vergil in the back with Artemis’ triple barrel, “you two are already late for quite a few parties.” 

“And there ain’t a circle of this place deep enough to save you if you miss this one,” Lady added with an evil glint in her red eye. 

Vergil glared between both ladies as they eyed him particularly. “What are you looking at?” 

Lady grinned wider than Dante had seen her in decades. It was a mocking, downright _evil_ thing, but damn did she seem genuinely giddy. _Why_ , he had no clue, considering she was a step away from blasting holes in both their heads just for funsies. 

“You’ve got a helluva storm waiting for you,” is all the gunslinger says. 

Vergil scoffs. “Whatever it is, I’ll handle it.” 

“No, you won’t!” 

Lady dissolves into guffaws, holding onto Trish’s firm shoulders for dear life. The demoness herself peeked at the twins with a smaller smile to match her partner’s. Nonetheless, they turn back right towards where they suddenly appeared, casually motioning to follow. 

The twins share a confused glance, but comply. 

A small tear in the underworld’s skin-like membrane gapes open just slightly—bright enough to catch in the corner of an eye, but thin enough to miss. How either of them managed to rip it open or slip through it is beyond Vergil and Dante, but they don’t dare ask. 

Trish waits for the first two to slide through while Vergil lingers at her side, awaiting his turn. 

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” he seethes through clenched teeth. 

“I have it on good authority that you won’t want to miss this one,” she croons, twirling the gun between her fingers. “Or rather, you shouldn’t.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

“I’ll admit, this is a first for all of us,” she hints, though there is nothing in all the familiar features of her stolen face that can tell him otherwise. “But that’s exactly why we came down to find you.” 

“So, you require... expertise?” 

The thought tickles him, admittedly. Seasoned devil hunters or whatever entity clearly hired them were always flustered by new, unknown power. It would certainly be more interesting than the tired cycle he and Dante had sliced through. 

Trish laughs long and deeply, much unlike Lady’s short, high laughs. 

“Trust me,” she finally gasps, holding her gut, “you don’t have any experience with _this_.” 

“Try me,” he challenged. 

Trish merely steps aside and motions him towards the tear, out of the underworld and back into the world of his birth. 

Vergil steps forward without a second thought. 

* * *

What they find is certainly... _trying_. 

Vergil tries to tell himself that it's not the crying or the screaming or the blathering that’s stunned him into submission. Nor the crowd of humans that mingle far too closely around him. 

But rather, it's the bright light of a newborn sunrise, beating down on skin that hadn't felt its rays in, as Lady and Trish offhandedly explain, about a year. 

That was enough time to forget what the sun felt like, what a real breeze from the earth and not the swinging of swords felt like, or what his son’s gleaming fists felt like, crashing into his jaw and Dante's for the second time in recent memory. 

Enough time for a child to be conceived, carried, and born in a busy hospital just outside of Red Grave. 

Specifically, _his_ newborn grandchild, of newborn grand _children_ , plural. 

The Sons of Sparda are no longer the only twins in the family, now doubled in size. As the revelation settles into the air, Vergil's eyes grow to the size of saucers and Dante's bruised jaw falls to the floor. 

Nero's face had been bright red, then a little pale, and when it went back to red, Vergil assumed it was because even looking at the pair of them made his son upset. But when the young man glances anxiously between them and the busy hospital room at the end of a hall—he sees that childbirth is simply exhausting by nature, and by association. 

Vergil’s own association, as tenuous as it is, does nothing but twist his stomach like the knotted roots of an old tree. Such roots lock him in place even as Nero attempts to usher them inside, despite the likes of Nico and the ladies distracting him along the way. 

Dante grins a mile wide, leaning on the doorway and waving like he’d found a bug when they were children. 

“Hey, Vergil,” he beckons with a kind of reverence his brother can’t possibly place, “come meet your grandkids!” 

Nero seizes the chance to force his father into the room, but with a gentle push rather than a harsh shove. 

As Vergil dares to approach, a gaggle of foster children disperse while Kyrie greets him with a weary smile from her nest of pillows. There, swaddled amongst the mess of sheets around her, are the newborns. They are white-haired and fair-skinned, though difficult to tell from how red their faces still are, and their eye colors remain pending. 

He doesn’t hear, see or sense Nero slip in beside him, seamlessly lifting both babies from the bed. Vergil remains a statue as his son rises, pinning him in place with his own wide eyes. His son asks a silent question, one that the father can’t hope to decipher, but simply absorb with his own silence. 

Nero lets out a low scoff and leans forward, his hands deft and soft as he places both bundles into his father’s arms. 

For a brief moment, their arms align in an odd sort of embrace, one that Vergil could never hope to replicate naturally. But Nero lets no such awkwardness stop him from arranging his father’s arms firmly under each child’s head, and as he begins to pull away, his hands can’t help but hover closely for a long moment. Vergil would feel insulted, had he the ability to feel anything but complete and utter awe, currently. 

Despite everything, the six of them are a picture. And a litany of others, if the series of blinding flashes from the hallway come to fruition. 

Vergil can pay no mind to anything but the twins; small, matching, helpless, _flawless_ things that they are. 

“It appears that,” he draws out, as his breath struggles to remain even with all this new weight on his chest, “we spring from the same roots.” 

Dante just laughs. 

Nero, misty-eyed and relaxing into Kyrie’s side, nods wholeheartedly. 

**Author's Note:**

> Dante's teasing + Vergil’s V-move lines = a tug on my heartstrings I HAD to indulge at 1AM while watching streams of the SE lol. I already had a headcanon for DMC6 to open with a DMC4-like intro, except its Nero running to the hospital to see his newborn, so I let myself use that here too, esp since it seems rumors about another sequel are starting up anyway. As long as we get to see these dorks again, I’m game! Pls don’t take another decade, tho,,, And I hope everyone has fun with the SE whenever you get your hands on it! :)


End file.
